


lying to our friends and colleagues

by writevale



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fake Not-Dating AU, Jon has a right mouth on him in this one, M/M, Martin Blackwood: Liar King, Set in early S1, Sex Positive Ace, Sex in the archives, Tim and Sasha bicker like a married couple, Trans Martin Blackwood, there are BOYFRIENDS in the archives, there's a DOG in the archives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26562478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writevale/pseuds/writevale
Summary: 'I'll take the job.' Martin's smile became something sharp. Suddenly, there was a wolf underneath his woollen exterior and Jon swallowed, dry-mouthed, at the reminder of just how many multitudes his love contained. 'We just won't tell them.'
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 65
Kudos: 570





	lying to our friends and colleagues

Jon stared furiously at the laptop screen in front of him, frustrated and perplexed at the lack of simple instructions provided when 'how to be an archivist' was inputted into a Google search. He only noticed the persistent buzz of Martin's phone on the coffee table when his boyfriend tried to wriggle his arm out from the warm space between Jon's back and the sofa cushion.

'I should get this.' Martin mumbled. Jon missed the worried lines that appeared on his forehead as he shuffled out of the living room, clearing his throat to best affect a professional telephone voice.

Jon tried 'Archivist London' and 'Archivist role tips' before giving up with a huff and realising fully that Martin had left the room. No matter how many times he told himself that starting his new job on Monday was going to be _fine_ , the lack of clear instruction from Elias and the whispers about the eccentricities and _untimely end_ of his predecessor was leaving an anxious lump in his throat that was yet to be cleared by the copious amount of tea Martin was practically pouring into him. Honestly, who told someone to feel free to make an Archivist job 'their own'? The job was filing away people's ghost stories. How much creative freedom was there in a job like that?

Jon sighed and closed the lid of Martin's laptop. His eyes fell on the unobtrusive moleskine resting on the bookshelf. The one he had bought Martin for their anniversary. Martin was creative enough for the both of them.

The door squeaked as Martin padded back in, turning his phone over and over between freckle-kissed fingers.

'Everything alright?' Jon asked. It wasn't. The twist of Martin's lips was enough to send his stomach sinking. He hoped desperately that it wasn't the nursing home.

'Er.' Martin answered as he sunk back onto the sofa. Jon reached out to lay a hand on his knee and Martin looked up from the picture of them both on his phone background to meet his eyes. 'That was Elias.'

'What?' Jon frowned and checked his watch reflexively. 'At 8pm on a Saturday?'

'He - ah. Yeah. He offered me a new job.'

'Oh?' Jon's fingers squeezed Martin's leg. An excited twitch that Martin smiled uncomfortably at.

'As an Archival Assistant.'

Jon's breath left him in a heavy stream. 'Oh.'

'Yeah.'

'What did you say?'

'I thanked him, obviously. I said I had to think about it but he told me that I needed to let him know tonight.'

'Right.' Jon ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly on the ends, a nervous tic he'd been unable to shake off from childhood. Martin nibbled at the edge of his thumbnail in his own display of discomfort. 'I mean -' He sighed. 'This is awkward.'

Martin huffed a bitter laugh, 'Yeah.' He let his hand rest atop Jon's and stared down at them instead of meeting Jon's eyes as he said, 'I know it puts you in an awkward position and, God knows, I don't really want you as my boss but . . . Elias did say it would be a pay rise and you know that the nursing home fees are only ever going to go up.' Jon shifted his hand underneath Martin's and he took the hint and laced their fingers together. 'And,' He paused, a subtle pink painting the line of his cheekbones, 'You did _mention_ that you might want to start looking for a place together soon. If I took this job -'

'We'd be working together _every day_.' Jon pointed out.

'Well, yeah but . . . I wouldn't mind that.' Martin continued, voice taking on the dreamy cadence that Jon always imagined as being as soft as peach fuzz and the same colour. 'We could have lunch together and get the tube together and -' He grinned, 'I could make sure you left on time.'

'Okay, but . . . Don't you think it will look a little suspicious if Tim and Sasha know that I picked them for the role and then you're there as well? You know nothing about archiving -'

'Says Mr 'How To Archive' himself!'

'- It will look like I picked you _because_ you're my boyfriend.'

Martin let out a frustrated grunt and flopped back against the cushions.

'Do you think Elias knows?' He asked, expression dour. 'And he offered me the job because he knew I couldn't take it? Then he doesn't have to consider me for a promotion for the next few years?'

'No, that's - you deserve a promotion, Martin. I know how hard you work. Besides, neither of us told anyone at the Institute. How could he know?'

'Oh my God, Jon!' Martin shot upright, one hand squeezing Jon's tight, the other coming to rest beseechingly on Jon's thigh.

'What?' 

'That's it! I'll take the job.' Martin's smile became something sharp. Suddenly, there was a wolf underneath his woollen exterior and Jon swallowed, dry-mouthed, at the reminder of just how many multitudes his love contained. 'We just won't tell them.'

****

**MARTIN**

**Sun, Mar 15 11:16 PM**

Remember what we agreed?

Of course! Stop stressing, it's going to be fine and you're going to be brilliant. Try get some sleep?

I love you xxxx

God, I hope so

Good night, I love you x

**Mon, Mar 16, 7:34 AM**

Good luck today, boss ;) xx

Stop that.

****

Jon opened the door to his flat with an expression that would decimate a lesser man.

'Oh dear.' Martin chirped before pressing a chaste kiss to Jon's sullen pout. The plastic bag he was carrying rustled as he squeezed his way inside. 'Still annoyed at me?' He dared to ask, toeing off his puddle-splattered boots and trying not to smile as The Magnus Institute's newly appointed Head Archivist helped him shrug off his wet coat despite the set of his jaw.

It became clear, once they were both hovering in Jon's tiny kitchen, waiting for the rumbling kettle to click off, that Jon was, still, a little annoyed.

'A dog, Martin.'

'Oh, look, I said I was sorry! It was an accident! He was very cute.' Martin bit back a fondly exasperated sigh as Jon folded his arms across his chest tightly. It would be funnier if he didn't know that it was Jon's way of holding in all the anxious scenarios that were flickering through his brain in flashes, like the pages of a flipbook in the hands of a bored child. 'What?'

Jon's kitchen was small enough that Martin could simply straighten up a little and reach out to stroke the taut muscle of Jon's arms. The man shifted with frustrated huff, the tension relocating up to Jon's shoulders and the squeeze of his fists. 

'It made me look like an idiot, Martin!'

'No! No, no! It didn't!' Martin met Jon's unhappy frown with a gentle smile. 'You handled it really well. I promise. Even when it pooped right in the middle of your office.'

'What?' Jon's mouth slackened in shock, voice pitching slightly upwards, 'It - In _my_ office?!'

Martin giggled before smiling indulgently, 'No.'

' _Martin_!'

'See! It could have been worse.'

Jon's hesitant amusement was a sight for sore eyes. Relieved, Martin slid his hands up to Jon's shoulders and kissed the spot between his eyebrows. He grinned, forgiven, as Jon tilted his head to peck his cheek in return. The kettle clicked off and the men parted. 'Oh! _And_ , because I'm really not the worst boyfriend in the world . . .' Martin bent to rummage around in his carrier bag.

'Hm, plying me with biscuits? I like your style, Mr Blackwood.'

' _Thank you_. I got rich tea and bourbons because some of us have taste and some of us need to learn to live a little.'

Jon moved to the kettle with a roll of his eyes and Martin instinctively popped open the fridge to fetch the milk.

'At least Tim and Sasha won't suspect that I feel anything other than irritation towards you.' He grumbled.

'Hah. No. After today's performance . . . I think we're good.'

****

Jon clicked the pause button on the tape recorder as a familiar shadow fell across the frosted glass of the door to his office. A small smile touched the corners of his mouth as the muted figure paused as though listening intently before knocking gently on the glass and letting himself in.

‘Good _evening_.’ Martin said pointedly. ‘Look who’s still holed away in his office when everyone else has gone home.’ Jon’s smile stretched into a sheepish grin.

‘I just need to finish recording the follow-up and my final thoughts.’

‘Jon -’ He started, unimpressed. The Archivist waved him into the perceptibly wonky chair on the other side of the desk. A compromise. Martin was always smirking about how he’d love to see the faces Jon pulled when his ‘spooky voice’ was on. Jon denied the existence of such a thing. ‘What’s the statement?’

‘Keiran Woodward. You know, the -’

‘Oh! The bin man! Toothy bin man!’

Jon’s lips twitched, ‘If you must.’

He made a show of shuffling his papers and pressing record, signalling to Martin that it was time to be absolutely silent.

‘In an uncharacteristic example of actually dealing with modern technology, my predecessor had the good sense to make a copy of the final text conversation between Alan Parfitt and Mr. Woodward.’

Recording with an audience was much more difficult than Jon would have thought. Especially when his audience had a set of soft, pink lips which quirked up in amusement at his jibe at the late Ms Robinson. Jon inhaled and continued.

‘I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week,’ Jon glanced up as, across the desk from him, Martin gaped in mock surprise at the mention of his name. He held a hand up to his mouth, coquettish and, for once, only pretending to blush. Tone level, Jon continued with an arched brow, ‘But it was unenlightening.’

Martin’s mouth dropped open further, into something more akin to genuine shock. _You cheeky bastard_ , the subsequent grin said.

‘Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe.’ He looked up from his notes to lock eyes with his boyfriend. ‘But at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon,’ Martin’s eyebrow twitched. A dare. Jon smirked. ‘Which is always a welcome relief.’

****

The sound of a full mug of tea being set down on the chipped varnish of Jon’s desk was now as familiar as the muffled announcements on the tube, as the irritating buzz of the main door to his flat, as the sighs Martin made in his sleep.

Jon barely glanced up from his screen, tapping his bottom lip thoughtfully with a pen and seemingly unaware that he was leaving tiny streaks of blue biro across the chapped surface.

‘Any luck with the CCTV?’ He asked, voice stern and almost too loud for the cramped space of the office. The door finally finished its slow arc across the floor and shut with a click. The effect on Jon was miraculous. Martin smiled softly for a beat before he registered the question and sunk his teeth into his bottom lip.

‘About that . . .’ He started, subconsciously turning his gaze to the hem of his jumper. ‘Sasha’s taken over. She says you’ve given me a disproportionate amount of work - what, with all the Angelas too - so . . .’

‘Right, fine.’ Jon tilted his chin upwards as he caught Martin’s eyes, playful despite the undercurrent of threat as he added, ‘I’ll expect you to find this Angela for me then. Preferably, while keeping all of your body parts attached.’

‘Hah. Yeah.’ Martin grinned shyly. It was one of Jon’s favourite expressions to inhabit the round face and it often made an appearance during their strictly professional meetings at work. He noticed Martin’s green eyes drop to his lips and quirked an eyebrow. Strictly professional. That was part of their agreement. 'Do you know you've got pen all over your lip?'

_Oh._

Jon swiped his bottom lip with his thumb and examined the clean digit with a frown. He looked at Martin questioningly and the man laughed.

'Do you want me to get it for you?'

' _Martin_.' He purposefully misunderstood and a bloom of pink crept up from behind the soft knit of Martin's jumper.

'No! That's - That's not what I was saying, Jon. I -'

It was too late. Jon was already slinking out from behind his desk, watching the unstoppable course of Martin's blush as it ascended to burn the tips of his ears and gave his freckled cheeks a frankly perfect rosy glow. In an impulsive instant, he was close enough to see the outline of his reflection in the inky dilation of Martin's pupils.

_One kiss in the office couldn't hurt, could it?_

There had been a number of subtle shifts in their relationship dynamic since their transfer to the Archives, but Jon lifted his chin, baring his neck just a little, and he watched the line of Martin's shoulders straighten out from the hunch of 'what can I do for you?' to 'I'm doing this for you and, my God, just let yourself enjoy it'. Then, the claustrophobic press of the bookshelves lining the walls melted away and, for a moment, there was nothing but the soft meeting of their lips. Jon's fingers clutching the hem of Martin's jumper. Martin's palm firm against the small of Jon's back. 

Jon had the grace to cough politely as they pulled apart, as though noting the transgression that had just occurred. The hand that had been so possessive against Jon's back was pulled to Martin's cheeks as he lamented:

'I'm bright red, aren't I? I can't go back out looking like this!'

Jon hummed as he sat himself back down behind his desk, ignoring the ridiculous itch in his fingertips that craved to remain buried in Martin's jumper. 

'It's rather sweet how much you still blush.'

' _Don't._ Don't make it worse.' Martin threatened.

He made a good point, it would definitely arouse suspicion around the Archives if Martin left looking so flustered. Jon glanced down at his desk for inspiration and met Martin's fraught expression with a uncertain look of his own.

'I could - We could pretend I had a go at you?'

Martin grinned despite himself, 'Very in character.'

The near-exhausted glint of grit in Jon's eyes melted into a soft, sincere stare. 'You know I don't mean it, right?'

'Oh, yeah. Of course. Of course I do.'

They shared a smiled. Jon nodded as though collecting himself and Martin nodded back.

'Off you go then. I'll leave the meat of the lie to you.' Once the door was slightly ajar, Jon grumbled, loud enough for the sound to trickle through into the other office: 'Can you remember to shut the door, at least, Martin?'

'You okay, Martin?' Sasha asked, eyeing the dying fire on Martin's face as he dragged his feet away from Jon's door.

'Mhm. Yep.' He stuttered in response and shuffled his office chair back under his desk with a series of awkward thrusts.

'Did he have a go at you?'

'Um, no. Not really.'

' _Martin_.'

They both looked up as Tim waltzed back in from the shops with a cheery whistle, bringing with him a distinct _cold_ smell, the wet London chill clinging to his clothes to see if it could infect anyone inside too.

'They were out of sushi, Sash, so I took some creative liberty with your lunch - what?' He looked between Martin and Sasha with a frown.

'Jon's been shouting at Martin again.'

'Not shouting!' Martin interjected, consciously folding in on himself. Arms folded, feet scuffing the carpet. It worked every time. Tim made a disgruntled noise as he rustled in his tote bag and lobbed a sandwich at an unsuspecting Sasha. He perched on the edge of Martin's desk, and offered him a fruit pot with a sympathetic smile.

'Tell Uncle Tim and Aunty Sasha all about it.'

'That's disgusting.' Sasha grimaced.

'You be quiet and eat your sandwich.'

Martin's pulse bobbed in his throat. He opened the mouth that still remembered the press of Jon's. And lied.

****

'Right, well,' Jon sighed, 'Although I can't totally approve of your methods, this is very useful information. Thank you, Tim.'

Tim held up a hand as though in solemn oath, seemingly aware of the fact he had an audience and never failing to act the Office Joker to ease the undercurrent of tension from hierarchical dispute between Jon and Sasha and the overt distaste Jon had for Martin.

'Jon, I swear, it was the most academically important coffee date I have ever had, the lock picking was almost legal and I will be billing the Institute for a replacement suit after the incident at the butchers.' To Martin's left, Sasha giggled and he could tell from the tilt of Jon's head that he was struggling to keep a smirk off his face. Everyone distracted, Martin let his gaze wander down Jon's back and rest briefly on the cute, barely-there curve of his boss' arse.

'Hm. We'll see what Elias has to say about that.' Jon started to turn and Martin jumped, wiggling his mouse with an agitated series of clicks as he realised his computer screen had been asleep for the past five minutes. 'Sasha, if you're cold -' Jon started, exasperated.

'I'm fine! Look at these slippers Martin and Tim got me!'

'Wonderful.' Jon coughed, restrained, as Sasha trotted a pair of unicorns out from underneath her desk. When a shadow passed across the piles of statements in front of him, Martin looked up hopefully. 'Back to work, Martin.' Jon said curtly before striding his long - _No, God, in those trousers? Endless_ \- legs away and shutting the door to his office with a final _snick_.

It was fine. Martin had finally bested the whining nag in the back of his head that insisted that Jon was affecting such easy disdain for him at work because he was, truly, completely incompetent. It was clear that Jon begrudged the situation even more than Martin did. There was something special about keeping the secret. Their relationship belonged to them alone and, Martin reasoned, if no-one else knew about it, no-one could take it away.

It also meant that he could daydream about the quiet 'I love you so much' a pair of sleep-warm lips had mumbled into his neck that morning without anyone else suspecting a thing.

'Magnus Institute to Martin: come in, Martin. Do you copy? Over.'

Tim and Sasha were both watching him. Hawk-like. A feverish excitement in the glance they shared.

_Shit_.

'Uh, yeah?' Martin squeaked.

'Are you alright, Martin?' Sasha asked with a polite, level tone. It did nothing to calm the sudden explosion of butterflies inside his stomach. They fluttered into his throat and he coughed loudly.

'Hm?'

'Martin, Martin. My buddy. My pal.' Tim sing-songed.

'What?!'

'Is there something you want to tell us?'

Martin tried to affect a look of utter confusion but, God, his blush. His stupid, traitorous fucking capillaries in his traitorous fucking face. Jon once asked just _how_ Martin got so good at lying when he blushed like that. Martin had laughed. He'd learned how to lie _because_ he blushed so much.

Tim's grin nearly split his face in two. Sasha looked vaguely distraught.

'Oh, _Martin_.' She moaned. Disappointed. Something clicked in Martin's head. They didn't _know_ anything.

If there was something Martin Blackwood was good at, it was taking people's mistaken perceptions and cloaking himself in them. His lies were of fabric and he could cut falsehoods away and stitch new ones in place with only his tongue. Very rarely did people take off the goggles of their assumptions and biases and that made it very easy to refract a version of the truth back at them that wouldn't be questioned. From now, he would play the idiot with an unrequited crush on his arsehole of a boss. As long as Jon kept up his façade, Tim and Sasha would have nothing to question. Easy.

He buried his face in his hands, willing the fire in his cheeks to burn hotter for once, and listened to the cackle of laughter from across the office.

'How long?' Tim asked, scandalised and thrilled.

'No. The real question is 'how?', full stop. _How_?' Sasha corrected him.

'Don't be mean, Sasha! Jon's not not-attractive! Right, Martin?'

'I'm not saying he's not attractive, Tim, I just -'

'Guys -'

'Maybe Martin likes his men a little on the mean side -'

'I'm not judging - well, that's not true I am but only because -'

'GUYS!' Martin erupted. 'PLEASE!' 

Jon's office door swung open and he stood in the entrance, tape recorder in hand and eyes blazing. The trio of Archival Assistants stared up at him like tiny rabbits caught in the headlights of a HGV.

'Is there a problem out here?' He asked, a quiet fury in his voice that he directed straight at Martin. In another setting, Martin's eyebrows would be touching his hairline at the hilarity of Jon trying to speak to him like that. 'I'm trying to record.'

'No issues out here, Boss.' Tim assured him. 'Apologies for the noise.'

'Take it to the canteen if you want to behave like school children, please. I'm not ruining statements by having Martin's shouting in the background.'

'Right-o, Boss.'

'Sorry, Jon.' Martin mumbled, inwardly storing the phrase 'um, could you take that to the canteen, please?' for the next time Jon got overly excited about a cryptic crossword answer. Jon stared at him for long enough for Martin to detect the hidden apology.

'Do some _work_ , Martin.' He snapped.

The three of them stared at their computers for a long ten seconds before, out of the quiet, Sasha monotoned: 'Good luck with that, Martin' and the teasing began again in earnest. Martin's butterflies settled down, basking in the warm relief that spread through him.

It was fine.

****

Jon licked a long stripe along the side of his thumb to catch the dripping ice cream as it tried valiantly to stain the cuffs of his T-shirt. He met Martin's faintly amused but mostly just _besotted_ gaze and rolled his eyes even as his ice cream-filled stomach purred happily.

They'd taken the weak April sunshine as a dare and were determined to stay out in the park near Jon's flat for as long as the encroaching clouds would let them. It was peaceful, the warm press of their thighs against each other on the bench a perfect counterpoint to the melting cones it was probably too cold to be eating.

'You.' Jon said, his entire point wrapped up in the single word. His boyfriend looked out across the sad, man-made pond as though he'd been admiring it the whole time.

'I don't know what you're talking about.' Martin's wonky smile betrayed him. He sighed. 'I can't help it. You're just so pretty.'

Jon's jaw twitched involuntarily, bisecting his ice cream cone with a startled crunch. When he shot a guilty look at Martin, he found laughter lines behind Martin's glasses.

'It's kind of fun, isn't it?' Martin mused as Jon swallowed his last mouthful. Martin's hands were deliciously warm compared to the ice cream as Jon wound their fingers together, interlocked hands coming to rest over their cosy thighs.

'What?' Jon surreptitiously wiped his mouth with his free hand, 'Lying to our friends and colleagues?'

'No -' Martin tutted.

'Honestly, Martin, I know you're a good liar, but getting off on it like this is just -'

'Shut up!' They bumped playful shoulders. Jon tilted his head in askance as a pair of grubby swans argued over an empty crisp packet across the path from them and Martin sighed. 'Not telling anyone is like . . . Oh, I don't know.'

'Go on?'

'Well . . . I didn't tell anyone about, well, _anything_ at high school - which was definitely the right idea, don't get me wrong - but it meant that I never got the whole 'being teased because of a crush' thing.' He wet his lips, a quick flash of pink and a shy glance at Jon's expression. 'Having people interested in my life like that . . . I don't know. It's nice? Is that weird?'

Jon squeezed Martin's hand. 'I hadn't thought about it like that. All the fun of the unrequited crush and none of the pain.'

'Hah. Yeah, I guess. Although, sometimes you are pretty convincing.'

Jon grumbled something incoherent, an unhappy set to the few remaining ice cream spots around his mouth. A stray strand of hair fluttered free from behind his ear and Martin tucked it back in place with utmost care, letting his finger stroke down the line of Jon's jaw just because.

'Hey.' Martin whispered, just audible above the chill breeze they were steadfastly ignoring. 'You're more convincing when you tell me you love me.' Jon's cheeks were cold against Martin's lips. They soon warmed up.

****

Jon refreshed his email. Sighed. Got up to peer through the crack in his office door.

Martin was working as hard as he had been all morning. Which was to say, not working at all. One hand rested limply on his mouse, scrolling aimlessly through a Wikipedia article he clearly wasn't reading. A quick glance in Sasha and Tim's direction confirmed that they, at least, were deeply absorbed in their appointed tasks.

Jon tugged on an unfortunate lock of loose hair and pulled his phone out of his pocket. It wasn't like he didn't _strongly suspect_ why Martin was struggling to focus. He sank into his chair with a sigh. It wasn't like he didn't _strongly suspect_ that it was his fault.

_Planning on doing any work today?_ He typed. Deleted.

 _Martin._ He typed. Paused. Deleted.

The real question was, was there something he could _do_ about it?

_Meet me in the row of the archives storage with the broken lights in five minutes?_ He typed. Gritted his teeth. Muttered a quiet 'Fuck.'

Hit send.

Martin was just turning his phone over with a quizzical expression as Jon strode out of his office. He didn't stop to catch the expression on Martin's face as he left.

He was almost beginning to think that Martin was going to stand him up when he arrived, the sound of rapid footsteps matching the staccato beat of Jon's heart.

'Everything okay?' Martin panted, expression hard to make out in the gloom but clearly fraught with concern. That wasn't what Jon had intended at all.

Martin's t-shirt bunched over his sternum as Jon curled his fist into the fabric to pull his boyfriend in closer. His gasp tasted of tea and Jon wasted no time in carding his fingers up from the base of Martin's skull and swallowing a high-pitched chirp of surprise from inside Martin's mouth.

'Jon!' He hissed as they broke for air, 'What are you doing?'

Jon huffed, breath hot in the ghostly space between Martin's neck and shoulder. 'You've been distracted all day. I thought I could help you focus.' The sound Martin made was all vowels. Freckled hands came to rest on Jon's waist.

'I'm . . . I mean: _here?'_ He whispered urgently, 'Anyone could walk in!'

'You'll have to be quick and quiet then.' Jon replied, tone matter-of-fact despite the race of his pulse. Something about the layers of dust on the shelves that surrounded them, about the real fear that actually, they would certainly both get fired if they were caught, wasn't conducive to Jon's own arousal. Even as Martin wet his lips, fingertips skimming over the crest of Jon's hip bones, there was no answering thrum of lust. Still, watching Martin, touching Martin, was a delight in itself. Jon wanted to do this if Martin did.

They met eyes through the shadows.

'God, Jon.' Martin groaned and tilted his head for another kiss. Acquiescence. Jon pulled back, the slight smacking of their lips lewd in the deathly quiet of the storage room. Silently, Jon raised a finger to Martin's lips and his assistant nodded, eyes huge and dark.

'Lean back here.' Jon directed, voice no louder than the whir of a tape recorder. Martin shuffled to rest against the pillar between two of the rickety shelving units. In the gloom, Jon couldn't tell how much he was blushing, but the soft skin of his cheek was hot to the touch as he gently twisted Martin's head to the side so he could breathe directly into his ear. 'Don't say anything. Just nod for yes, okay?' Martin nodded quickly. 'We don't have long, but if you're really as _distracted_ as your lack of work would suggest, we probably don't need it.' Jon grinned, lips shifting against the shell of Martin's ear as he let his hand wander down the curve of Martin's stomach. To his credit, Martin stayed perfectly still and quiet. 'I know you've thought about this.'

'Jon.' Martin warned.

'Shh. I want to - I want to help, Martin.' Jon could feel his own blush rising. Dirty talk wasn't exactly either of their fortes but he'd be lying if he hadn't noticed a few themes working their way into their more intimate moments at home. He'd been waiting for a moment to show that he'd been paying attention. Jon licked his lips self-consciously. 'We all know that you fantasise about fucking your boss at work, Martin.' He kept a close watch on Martin's face as his fingers began to fiddle with the button on the man's dark jeans. 'What do you have me do for you?'

'Jesus -' Jon's other hand slipped from Martin's cheek to clamp his mouth shut. He could feel Martin's breath against the back of his fingers as it escaped from his nose in rapid, shaky puffs. He met Martin's eyes and felt a shiver run down his spine. In that moment, there was nothing he wouldn't do for him, the Archives be damned.

'Step on my foot for stop.' Martin nodded and exhaled sharply as Jon finally wriggled his hand into the tight space behind the zipper. 'You were going to tell me what you want me to do for you.' He continued, the whispers forcing his voice into something low and rough. Martin's eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks like the anxious beating of a bird's wings. He nodded as Jon's fingers brushed against the damp fabric of his boxers, first finding the seam and tracing it down to the bulge hiding beneath the curve of his mons. 'Where do you want your boss, Martin?'

If not for how still Martin was trying to keep himself, Jon wouldn't have noticed the tremble that ran through his body like Jon had flipped a switch and turned on a hot current of electricity. He took it as a sign to continue. 'Would you have me on my knees for you?'

Jon fought back the overwhelming urge to apologise. It felt like a crude cliché made even worse by his stilted delivery and stuffy accent. Beneath his hand, he felt Martin's jaw working as he bit the inside of his cheek. Jon swallowed, grateful that Martin was staring up at the ceiling. 'Would you bend me over my desk and fuck me?'

The pair let out near-simultaneous pants of breath as Jon finally started to rub against Martin with purpose and, in turn, Martin's fingers seized around Jon's waist, so tight he could feel the crescentic nip of nails digging into the flesh of his back. They were quiet for a moment, nothing but the rustle of fabric to betray them to passing ears.

'Martin.' Jon whispered, lips thinning into a nervous smile as the dark pools of Martin's blown pupils fixed themselves on his face. He dropped his voice even lower and enjoyed the sensation of Martin straining forwards against his hands to hear him. 'Would you? Would you bend me over my desk and fuck me?'

Martin stared at him, the slight frown appearing between his eyebrows that meant he was experiencing the kind of beautiful agony that normally ended with Jon's name between his teeth. He nodded and Jon made no effort to hide his grin. He could see why Martin liked it, the control, it was like a positive feedback loop that he needed to push harder, faster, more.

'You'd bring me a tea and have me suck on your nipples to say thank you. Feed me your wet cock if I refused to take a lunch break.' Jon didn't even know where this filth was coming from but he couldn't stop. Not when Martin had started to grind his hips forwards onto his circling fingers. 'You'd make me come in your pants and wear them around the office like a dirty secret.'

The Archival Assistant had squeezed his eyes shut tightly behind the glinting frames of his glasses but they snapped open as Jon pulled his hand free to briefly wet his fingers and dip them beneath the worn-out elastic of Martin's boxers. Jon knew his love of Martin's pubic hair was a little outside the spectrum of normal, but there was just something about the wiry curls that tickled his palm as he crept his wet fingers downwards. Just _something_. Martin's hips bucked once, surprised, as Jon smoothed over the line of his erection and dipped his hand further, parting the soft folds of Martin's labia to coat his fingers in more of the wet slick he'd no doubt been leaking all day.

Martin hummed brokenly against the pressure of Jon's palm and Jon tutted.

'Sh, now.' He pressed a silent kiss to Martin's temple, 'Do you know how wet you are? God, Martin, you've been desperate for this all day, haven't you?'

Martin nodded fervently and, it was hard to be sure, but Jon thought his eyes had a fine coating of tears. They reflected the distant lights differently now. He kissed him again and Martin sank forwards so that his head was resting on top of Jon's shoulder. It left his mouth right by Jon's ear and he could hear the whistling turbulence of air as Martin exhaled in a jolting rhythm. Jon let his fingers come to rest either side of Martin's bulge and started to jerk the fleshy hood over the head of it in the near-frantic twitch that rarely ever failed to have Martin spilling over the edge into orgasm.

Martin's mouth opened against his palm as though he was going to try and say something. One of his hands crept up to the narrow space between Jon's shoulder blades and pulled until they were chest to chest.

'Sh, shh. Martin, Martin I love you so much.' Martin nodded, squeezing Jon fiercely and Jon could feel his face scrunching up with pleasure against his cheek. 'Do it.'

The aborted moan of a sound Martin made as he came vibrated against Jon's palm like a kiss. His head fell heavy onto Jon's shoulder, hips rocking violently into his gentle ministrations until, abruptly, it was all too much and he clutched at Jon's wrist with a gasp. 

Jon pulled his hand away from Martin's lips to reveal a dazed, open mouthed smile. He searched for somewhere to wipe his fingers clean and gasped a little himself as Martin tugged his wrist upwards to suck them into the warmth of his mouth, tongue expertly lathing away his own wetness.

'Thanks.' Jon whispered, the creeping mortification he'd been ignoring blooming into outright regret at the dirty words he'd rumbled into Martin's ear moments before. Martin kissed his fingertips once, twice, as he let them go and gazed at Jon in awe. He seemed to be feeling a lot better.

'What was _that?_ ' He wheezed. The heat in Jon's cheeks intensified. 'Not that I'm complaining!'

'I - I don't know, I was trying to -'

The start of Jon's anxious tirade was cut off by the sudden susurrus of slippered feet against the varnished floorboards and the crescendo of a tuneless hum as someone wound their way into the room. The pair broke apart with a jolt and stared at each other with a mute horror. Sasha.

_Shit_.

Martin made a series of frantic gestures and Jon nodded, hoping he understood enough for them to pull this off. Cheeks flaming, he checked the state of his shirt-tails and squeezed Martin's hand for good luck.

'Jon?' Sasha spotted him immediately as he stepped out into the light, 'God, don't appear from the shadows like that! It's already creepy enough down here. Are you okay? You look . . .'

Jon sighed. 'Red? I've just been lifting some boxes onto the shelves. Don't tell Tim I can't lift twenty kilos above my head without dying, please.' Sasha giggled, delighted. Now, for the distraction. 'I've been meaning to ask you about those caves, did you find another map?'

'Oh! Yeah! It's on my computer, I'll show you now. Hang on, just let me grab this box.'

Jon exhaled, long and slow, as he followed the enthusiastically wittering Sasha back out of the storage room. By the time he made it back into the safety of his own office chair he had a string of texts from his boyfriend, a florid overuse of the pink heart emojis throughout.

_Do some work!_ Jon typed. Hit send. Grinned.

****

Their local pub was a fairly cosy spot a few streets away from Martin's flat. It wasn't so uncomfortably gentrified that the owners would try and charge a tenner for a gin and tonic, but it was modern enough that Jon could rest his hand on Martin's thigh beneath the table without the risk of getting their faces rearranged.

Jon's second whiskey and coke had turned him into a looser version of himself, more prone to wild gesticulations and that wonderful rumbled laughter. Martin felt a little drunk on the company, even if there was nothing in his lemonade. The TV screen in the corner was showing highlights from the rugby and Martin grinned as his love tried to recount what he'd once read about the history of the game with one hand and half the facts. It was incredibly endearing.

Neither of them noticed the approaching figure until it was too late.

'Well, well, well! Good evening, gentlemen!'

'Tim!' Martin squeaked, not daring to look away from his colleague's knowing smirk to see if Jon had successfully kept the terror of this unexpected meeting off his face.

'What are you doing here?' Jon spluttered, shifting uncomfortably away from Martin as though they weren't angled towards each other, staring into each other's eyes, mere seconds before.

'I might ask you the same question.' Tim countered. His unfairly perfect eyebrows twitched knowingly.

Martin did some mental calculations. They had a few options. He could tell Tim that they were just having a few drinks, nothing more and leave the _go away, I'm trying to make a move here_ as a heavy implication. He could tell Tim he and Jon were waiting for separate groups of friends to arrive, they weren't really there together at all, really. They _could_ tell Tim this was a first date and then pretend it went horribly, returning the to the status quo of lovesick Martin and unimpressed Jon in the office on Monday. He could -

'I'm giving Martin a performance review.' Jon blurted.

Ah.

No.

They were done for. Martin blinked slowly and turned to look at Jon's horrified face.

'What?' He asked, quiet and brisk. Jon swallowed.

'A performance review? Oh my God.' Tim erupted, 'Jesus, boss.'

'Seriously, Jon?'

'I - God. Sorry.'

Tim slipped into the chair opposite them with a predatory glint in his eyes that was at odds with the way he pouted. 'You never put your hand on my leg during my performance review.'

'Shut up, Tim.' Martin moaned.

'You didn't buy me a drink.' Jon sniffed. Martin fought the urge to bury his face in his hands as Tim chuckled and even Jon found it in himself to grin.

'So, this is a date? Oh, don't look at me like that, Martin, I'm happy for you!' Tim reached out to clap Martin on the shoulder as he scowled. 'Oh my God, have I interrupted your first date?'

Martin and Jon shared a look until Martin was satisfied that the flicker of understanding in Jon's eyes meant that he was going to stay quiet and not say anything else stupid.

'You can't tell anyone.' He prefaced and Tim's eyes lit up like the London Eye on New Year's Eve. 'No, seriously, Tim.'

'Okay, but I already texted Sasha. Just, full disclosure, we've been waiting for this.'

'Oh, for - _fine_. But really, we could get fired, Tim.'

'Not because of something either of us is going to say!' Tim insisted, resting his chin on his hands to gaze over at the pair of them adoringly. 'Aw, I'm just really happy for you both.'

'Tim,' Jon sighed, 'We've been together for nearly two years.'

'What?!' Tim's hands slammed down against the only slightly sticky table in shock. 'Sorry, _what?!_ ' He looked at Martin, agape. 'But you -' And then at Jon, 'And you - ! Oh my God. As _if_. Sasha is going to go mental.' He did another wide-eyed double take. Martin was taking it all as a compliment to his skill at lying. ' _Why?_ '

'Jon didn't um, pick me as part of the team.' Martin licked his lips nervously as he felt the comforting weight of Jon's hand settle back onto his knee. 'Elias randomly offered me the job and I couldn't really afford not to take it but we didn't want you and Sasha thinking that Jon was playing favourites, so . . .'

'Wow.' Tim sat back in his chair and folded his arms. The door to the pub swung open to admit a rowdy group of people and Tim grinned as he glanced over his shoulder and clocked them. 'Well, that's my lot. I should leave you lovebirds in peace.' He said as he rose up from his seat and shot them of them a cheeky wink. 'Have a _delightful_ evening, you terrible pair of liars. I'll see you on Monday.'

Jon and Martin stayed quiet long enough to catch the cheer that went up from Tim's friends as he arrived at their packed booth.

'That could have gone worse.' Jon tried, voice pitching upwards like an abandoned see-saw. Martin attempted a flat, unimpressed look but relief was bubbling up through his chest as though Tim had just removed a heavy boulder from the mouth of a geyser.

'A performance review?' He giggled incredulously, wriggling his arm behind the small of Jon's back to grip his waist. He was already forgiven, really. 'A performance review.'

'Oh, stop.'

'I can't believe it. All this time we've managed to avoid suspicion and then . . . _That_.'

'Mar-tin.' Jon frowned up at him sadly as though Martin were being horribly cruel to his Head Archivist.

'Oh, shush.' Martin soothed with a brush of his lips against Jon's hair. 'It'll be fine. I hope.'

'Do you want to go somewhere else?' Jon asked, voice coy, 'It's a bit weird with Tim here as well.' Martin knew what he meant. There was a crawling sensation in his bones, the kind that told him to run to avoid being so _seen_.

'Sure.' He replied, draining the last mouthful of his drink. There was a sweet uncertainty to the look Jon was aiming at him and Martin swallowed as his boyfriend's gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips.

'We could head home?' He suggested quietly, 'You could give me a performance review instead?'

'Ha. You're terrible.' 

'I'm taking that as a yes.'

****

Jon inhaled deeply. He'd been talking for five minutes about their goals for the week, each assistant's tasks and how they'd feed into the overarching function of the Archive. No-one was listening. Martin was fiddling with the cuffs of his jumper and staring at the fraying hems with interest. Tim was glancing between everyone with baited breath, waiting for an opportunity to bring it up. Sasha was staring through him, as though she was trying to catch a glimpse of the Jon that Tim has no doubt regaled her with stories about over the weekend. Elias, thank God, was nowhere to be seen.

He exhaled.

' _Fine_. Seeing as none of you are paying attention, does anyone have any concerns or questions they'd like to raise regarding recent . . . news?'

Sasha blinked as everyone in the room turned to her. She opened her mouth.

'I can't believe Martin is so good at lying!' Tim interrupted, jigging up and down in his seat at what was undeniably the most exciting thing to happen in the Archives ever.

'Oi! Don’t speak over me.' Sasha aimed a playful slipper in his direction and Jon stared at Martin searchingly, hoping for a weak smile to soothe the knots in his stomach. Martin had already started a nervous ramble, gazing over at Sasha like it was his fate she was sloshing around inside the mug she was holding.

'If it's a problem, Sasha, we could - I don't know - I could ask to be transferred back, say it's not working -'

'Don't you speak over me either!' She insisted, but with a soft smile. 'I don't know what you want me to say, really. I saw you hugging each other goodbye before Martin got on the tube a few weeks ago so I knew something was going on. I didn't tell anyone about it though, so you can trust that I'm not going to now.'

'Sasha!' Tim gasped, mortally wounded.

'You should definitely drop the whole _grr I hate Martin, he is so incompetent_ act, though.' She continued and the wriggle of embarrassment in Jon's stomach grew into tendrils of pink which began to creep up from underneath his collar. He glanced at the creases around Martin's eyes and shuffled uncomfortably. 'I do have one concern though.'

'Yes?'

'I'd like a chaperone for my performance review.'

'Oh for -' Jon looked to the ceiling for aid. Martin buried his laughter into the cuff of his jumper.

'I don't!' Tim added brightly.

'Enough.' Jon coughed. 'Enough! Everyone do some _work_. I'm going to record a statement so keep it down.'

'Oh, don't worry, Jon. We're going to sit out here and pester Martin until he tells us all of your secrets.' Sasha grinned like a shark. Tim was already rolling his office chair out from under his desk to wheel it over to Martin's.

'Martin.' Jon sighed.

'Uh, yeah?'

' _Do some work_.'

**Author's Note:**

> _and they all lived happily ever after_
> 
> reading this back honestly feels like it was written by someone else? whoever has stolen my writing style, I'd actually love it back, many thanks. 
> 
> [@writevale](https://writevale.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
